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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29970846">Hope on Fire</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmiclattes/pseuds/cosmiclattes'>cosmiclattes</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Avatar Bolin AU [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Avatar: Legend of Korra</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Avatar!Bolin, Brotherly Affection, Bruises, Drama, Equalists (Avatar), Feelings, Found Family, Gen, Homelessness, Liberal use of Italics, Light Angst, POV Third Person Omniscient, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Poverty, This started as a joke then went left</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 03:09:19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,472</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29970846</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmiclattes/pseuds/cosmiclattes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>AU: Bolin is the avatar. That’s it. That’s the story.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Bolin &amp; Mako (Avatar)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Avatar Bolin AU [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2218560</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>24</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Disclaimer: I don’t own any rights to the characters, setting, or themes. They belong to their respective owners.</p><p> </p><p>Tumblr: cosmiclattes</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">HE DISCOVERS HE CAN FIRE BEND on a cool night in the middle of spring.</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He’s nine.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The sky is a mottled purple-blue, the color of a bruise, when his brother returns.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He hated when he came back late. <br/></span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The shadows grew long and slipped like ghosts just out of his peripheral. Not that Bolin is scared of the dark or anything. But the lights down the block are just flickering to life when he spots the familiar figure, and a low rushing sense of relief comes over him. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Bolin had gotten them dinner. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Well, he had gotten <em>Mako</em> dinner. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He ate his half while he waited. Two pieces of that roasted fish the nice man outside of the train station sold. He had emptied the little paper cup of fish in a page from a discarded newspaper and stopped by Lee’s Kitchen. Sometimes the back door to the kitchen would be open and the cooks would be out there smoking and talking. They let him use the water fountain just in the door whenever he came by. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">They’re there when he arrived and they nodded him in wordlessly. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He filled the cup with a grin, calling out a quick thanks to the cooks as he ran back to their spot with the surprise for Mako when he came back from work.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2"><em>Work</em>.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">That’s what probably had him limping closer, scarf wrapped tightly against the cool breeze and hands stuffed in his pockets. When Bolin races towards him, he starts slightly. Looks up.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Bolin reels back.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“What happened to you?”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Nothing,” Mako says with a shrug. And then, with a knowing smile, “What’s all wrapped up in the newspaper?”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Your dinner,” Bolin grumbles, glaring at the dark bruise blooming on Mako’s cheek as though by sheer force of will it would disappear. “You get in a fight again or something?”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“<em>My</em> dinner, huh? And where’s yours?”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“I ate already. Quit dodging the question.”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“‘M not dodging anything,” The fish is split in half, Mako eats carefully. Not carefully enough though. The wince when the muscles in his cheek pull doesn’t go unnoticed by his younger brother.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“You dodge <em>everything</em>,” Bolin mutters, balling up the empty paper and frowning at it. “I thought we’re suppose to look out for each other. You don’t even tell me where you work!”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“We do look out for each other. It’s just...I don’t know. Don’t worry about it.”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“But you’re hurt! You come back hurt a lot!”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“It looks worst than it is,” Mako winks, tossing aside a bone, and Bolin wants to tear his hair out.<br/></span>
</p><p class="p3"><span class="s2">But then, Mako freezes. </span> <span class="s2">Stares between them at the paper in Bolin’s fist. <em>Why was he so intent on evading—</em></span></p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Bolin’s thoughts skid to a halt. Nose wrinkling.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Something’s burning—“</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Bolin.”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The paper in his hand is smoking. Smoking as though it...</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Bolin’s eyes go wide.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">It <em>couldn’t</em>.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">No, it actually was.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Throwing the charred newspaper and yelping, he backs against the wall of the building, swiping at the fading flickers of a flame on his palm and looking at Mako accusingly.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">But his brother only stares at his hand.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">So, <em>he</em> hadn’t?—</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“How...did you do that?”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“D-do what?” Bolin’s voice doesn’t sound his own. Why was he accusing him of starting the fire? He couldn’t. <em>Obviously</em>. He flinches when his brother grabs his hand. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Both hold their breath as Mako runs his thumbs along his palm with a frown. He presses gently and Bolin jumps, jerking his hand away.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“That can’t be right,” Mako murmurs. Then, looking up into his brothers bewildered eyes, “can you do it again?”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Do what again? I...I can’t—“ He’s cut short by Mako’s hands flying up, gripping him by the shoulders, and it’s only then he realizes he’s shaking but no. <em>No</em>, he’s an earth bender. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He <em>can’t</em> do both. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2"> <em>He can’t.</em> </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Bolin, this is serious. Do you know what this could mean?”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“N-No?” comes the half choked whimper and Mako sighs, dragging both hands away and down his face. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">There were...stories, they had heard when they were young. When their father would come home from the factory, hauling the pair up on his knee before dinner and telling them everything about anything. About life in the Earth Kingdom when he was their age. About the escapades he got into when he moved to Republic City. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">And about the avatar. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The only person who could bend all four elements. Who could restore balance to an ever changing world. The sole liaison among the nations.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Bolin remembers these stories in pieces. But it still doesn’t add up. He’s never manipulated water before. Or air. But then again, whatever it was he just did with fire had been an accident... </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He’s torn from his thoughts by his brother shuffling closer. Reaching forward, slowly. Cautiously. A hand drops on Bolin’s head where it dips nearly to his knees and nudges it back, bruised face frowning at the tears he finds there.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“What’s going on, Mako?” Bolin hiccups. And then, quieter, “I don’t want any of this.”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Mako got the sense this was deeper than not wanting to firebend.<br/></span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He doesn’t mention it.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Fire isn’t scary,” Mako says. Bolin’s crying subsiding to a silent shaking, arms wrapped around his knees. “Hey, is it scary when I do it?”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“No,” comes the muffled reply.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Have I ever hurt us with it?”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">A jerky shake of the head.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“See? It’s okay. It’s fine. Nothings wrong. We’ll figure it out. I’ll...I’ll teach you.”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Glassy green eyes lift. “Promise?”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Promise.”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Bolin falls asleep almost immediately, a solid weight on Mako’s side. The tears from earlier dried into salty tracks across his face.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Mako chases his sleep. It gets the better of him and he quits pursuing it, watching it escape. He watches the sky and the flickering lights in the distance. He watches the statue of the previous avatar, standing as a silent sentinel. A boy really. Guarding the city with a stony sense of determination...</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Mako tangles a hand in Bolin’s hair, and leans a cheek on his brothers head. Swiping at the tears that escaped the corners of his eyes.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><hr/><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s2">Mako is twelve. Bolin’s eleven.</span> </em>
</p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s2">Mako thinks maybe it’s a fluke. He told Bolin as such and his brother looked relieved. And it’s his relief that leaves Mako with this deep sense of guilt.</span> </em>
</p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s2">He peruses the donation bin in the back of the big charity building on the other side of town looking for a gift. There’s a nice olive green jacket he thinks Bolin might fit. He sets it neatly on a stack of milk crates and keeps looking, ignoring the reality of the situation they found themselves.</span> </em>
</p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s2">They still haven’t found the avatar.</span> </em>
</p><p class="p2">
  <em>No wonder, Mako thinks bitterly.</em>
</p><p class="p2">
  <em>Conversations on a topic that, up until now seemed trivial found themselves needling him under his skin. Newspaper articles that he wouldn’t have glanced twice at suddenly felt like the little letters were screaming at him to give him over.</em>
</p><p class="p2">
  <em>He may or may not have had a few nightmares over it.</em>
</p><p class="p2">
  <em>He had woken up the morning after thinking that’s all it was. A really weird dream. But Bolin was awake before he was, and Mako caught him hunched over a little flame in his palm, watching it with narrow eyes like it were liable to leap down and start moving all on its own.</em>
</p><p class="p2">
  <em>“Can you bend two things?” Bolin asked without turning.</em>
</p><p class="p2">
  <em>“I never tried.” It was technically the truth.</em>
</p><p class="p2">
  <em>Bolin twisted around. Mako saw his eyes flicker to the Aang statue before landing on him. That flame flickering out. “Can anyone? Anyone who isn’t...like him?”</em>
</p><p class="p2">
  <em>Mako shakes the memory from his head, grabs the jacket and pulls it on. It was a bit loose in the sleeves. Bo would grow into it though.</em>
</p><p class="p2">
  <em>He pats his pocket for Zolt’s message to the Agni Kai’s and continues on his errand.</em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><hr/><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“I don’t see him yet.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">Mako is fifteen. Bolin is fourteen.</p><p class="p2">They’re on the corner of Twelfth and Rei Avenue under the heat of a midsummer sun, keeping out of the way of the waves of people and traffic moving along the street.</p><p class="p2">Shin had given them strict instruction to be there at noon.</p><p class="p2">The clock in the window of the bank across the street read 12:15.</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Bolin bounces on his feet, running a hand through sweat damp hair. Mako eyes him suspiciously.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“What?” </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“<em>What</em>?” Bolin parrots, and Mako rolls his eyes.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“You’re fidgeting. Spill.”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“I just...do you think he knows?”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The previous weekend, Zolt had sent the pair to give a reply to a correspondence out of Red Monsoon territory. Mako hadn’t liked the idea of dragging Bolin along, but Zolt had waved them away through a screen of cigar smoke, telling them to flip the record in the player on their way out.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Everything went decently until they were heading out. They had been recognized by some passing Monsoons with a message of their own for Zolt. It probably wouldn’t have escalated if Mako hadn’t threw the first flaming punch, but he and Bolin find themselves backed in a corner. The leader of this particular group clicking his tongue in disdain.</span>
</p><p class="p2">“This is a waste of time,” he growled. “They’re just kids. Zolt’s little middlemen.”</p><p class="p2">“Yeah? Well that ‘<em>little middleman’ </em>almost set my sleeve on fire!”</p><p class="p2">“I said to leave it!”</p><p class="p2">Bolin had been relying on his newfound fire bending up until that point. But with their exit blocked, he plants a foot forward, twisting his ankle at the same time a block of pavement launches itself out from under the Monsoons feet, sending all three less than gracefully on their bottoms.</p><p class="p2">Mako grabs his hand and makes a break for it.</p><p class="p2">“<em>Hey</em>! Hey, hold on—!” The voice calls as they run.</p><p class="p2">It’s only as Bolin waits outside as Mako relays the events of the day to Zolt that a feeling of dread descends upon him.</p><p class="p2">They saw.</p><p class="p2">They know.</p><p class="p2">“Nah,” Mako says, interrupting his thoughts. “Zolt won’t buy anything Red Monsoon tries to sell. Shin either, by extension.”</p><p class="p2">“Are you mad?”</p><p class="p2">“Why would I be mad?”</p><p class="p2">“You always say if we’re around other people, to pick an element and stick with it,” Bolin explains, watching as a woman and a boy no older than himself stop, smiling and laughing at a food stand. They buy half a dozen steamed buns and carry on, hand in hand. “That it’s dangerous if anyone else knows. That if it gets in the wrong hands—“</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">(—The hall on the second floor of the Triple Threat’s headquarters had the tackiest wallpaper Bolin ever saw in his life. </span>
</p><p class="p2">It was a dark blue with a foil like sheen to it, covered in over opulent scroll work that made it look like one giant chocolate wrapper instead of an attempt at interior decorating. It was...<em>dated</em>. The building itself was old, a former Red Monsoon den. Yakone’s favored meeting place, he heard some of the older triad members snicker on occasion, kicking their feet up on the furniture in the lounge downstairs. To be honest though, that wallpaper had to predate even this mysterious Yakone figure.</p><p class="p2">He scowls at it in favor of trying to eavesdrop on Mako and Zolt.</p><p class="p2">It works. </p><p class="p2">
  <em>Sort of.</em>
</p><p class="p2">Mako comes out of Zolt's office and walks down the hall without a second glance at Bolin. The latter having to jog a bit to keep up with his stride.</p><p class="p2">“Well?” Bolin hisses. “Did you tell him?”</p><p class="p2">“I told him what he needs to know.”</p><p class="p2">“Which is cryptic code for <em>what</em> exactly?”</p><p class="p2">Mako swivels around so quickly, Bolin collides into him.</p><p class="p2">“That, <em>that</em>,” a finger lifts in warning between Bolin’s eyes for emphasis, “was too close.”</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“I—it was an accident! I panicked!”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“I told you to be more careful! The triads might hate each other but they talk. If word gets out that you...that you’re...”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The stricken look on Mako’s face is there one minute and gone in a flash. So much so, Bolin wonders if it was there at all. If he hadn’t just imagined that foreign look of pinched fear on his brothers face. </span>
</p><p class="p2">“You’re the kind of weapon that could end these stupid turf wars before they began,” he says, keeping his voice low as a triad member passed them in the hall. “If they know the truth of what you can do, they’d throw you right into the middle of their beef with the meanest benders in the city. So we can’t show our cards. Got it?”</p><p class="p2">Bolin presses his fingers together, drags them across his lips and throws away the invisible key.—)</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“—You panicked.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">Bolin chews on his lower lip. Nods slowly.</p><p class="p2">“If anything comes to anything,” Mako says quickly, as a red satomobile slows to a halt at the curb, “I’ll handle it.”</p><p class="p2">The door swings open as the passenger window rolls, a familiar face ducking over the seat to nod at the brothers. Shin waits until they’re settled in the backseat before he pulls off into traffic, apologizing in a roundabout-very-Shin-way for his lateness.</p><p class="p2">“Funny thing happened,” he smirks, eyeing Mako then Bolin in the rear view mirror. “One of the Monsoons stopped by. In the flesh. Bold move, but I digress. Took up most of my and Zolt’s afternoon talking up a very interesting story.”</p><p class="p2">“Yeah?” Mako says. His hand finds Bolin’s in the empty space between them and squeezes.</p><p class="p2">“Mhmm. Wanted to know why the two fire bender kids Zolt had on their block got into a spat with one of their own.”</p><p class="p2">“Two?” Bolin looks down at their joined hands. “Zolt only sent one, last I checked.”</p><p class="p2">“That’s what he told him. Said he had it all mixed up because he very specifically sent <em>one</em> fire bender and <em>one</em> earth bender. They went back and forth for the longest time and long story short, nothing even came of it. Aside from him wanting you two to, you know, maybe not pick fights when you’re around that way?”</p><p class="p2">Bolin winces, watching the city fly by out the window as Mako’s hand gripped his in silent assurance. <em>Spirits, how could he have been so stupid?</em></p><p class="p2">“Anyway,” Shin continues. “He’s got a new job for you two. We’re eyeing a fight at the pro-bending arena, and we need as many people betting as we can get—“</p><p class="p2">Shins voice and the low rumble of the engine fade into the background as they draw closer to the triad headquarters, the secret Bolin and Mako carried hanging overhead like a rain heavy cloud.</p><p class="p2"> </p><hr/><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Mako is sixteen. Bolin, fifteen.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The search for the avatar was still underway. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Bolin’s walking home when the paper catches his eye. WHERE IS THE AVATAR? It demands in bold script to a crowd more concerned with making the three o’ clock train than where the current incarnation of a figure more myth than human was. Bolin studies the article. It’s way too long. He looks at the picture instead.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">A woman and man are sat in what looks like a solemn looking meeting. Their faces turned away from the camera as they speak with a younger, bespectacled woman bent over a stack of papers. His eyes drop to the caption and follows it with a finger.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <em>Katara (left) and Lord Zuko (right) meet with Firelord Izumi (center) to plan the next ambassador trip to the north.</em>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“They think the avatar is water tribe,” a voice says suddenly, just to his right. Bolin turns and finds a man perusing the stack of papers just beside him. He tosses him a good natured chuckle and shrugs. “Makes sense, I guess.”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Bolin had no idea how that would remotely make sense. He nods anyway. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Later, as he continues his walk home, he thinks. Maybe Mako was right. Maybe it <em>was</em> a fluke. The avatar couldn’t be some poor orphan from Republic City, right? They had to have class. Prestige. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s2">Right?</span> </em>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He sighs, stopping on the side of the road. This was ridiculous. Suppose he was the avatar. Suppose everyone in that photo were looking for him. What could he even offer? </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">What could he, Bolin, possibly do? </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He eyes the puddles dotting the side street. His reflection is warbled, cast in shadow beneath a porcelain blue sky. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He passes a hand well over the surface of the water. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">It doesn’t move.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He laughs.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><hr/><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Before they can move into the attic of the arena, they have to stay somewhere else.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">All the equipment and old uniforms are in the attic, Toza explains. It’d be awhile to move everything somewhere else. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">That’s what he said. Awhile. Mako counts the money they have saved and Bolin pretends not to notice the way his face falls.</span>
</p><p class="p2">It’s enough for one months rent in their old neighborhood. Maybe. There’s no way a landlord is going to let them a room for one month—ideally—in any neighborhood. Toza considers this and shrugs. They find themselves in his living room in the meantime. Bolin on the couch and Mako on several blankets at the floor by his feet.</p><p class="p2">Toza’s building is one of the older ones just outside of the city. Close enough to the trolley lines, but far enough that Mako doesn’t constantly look behind them whenever they venture outside. They had parted ways with Zolt and Shin on friendly terms. But Mako hadn’t trusted it. </p><p class="p2">There was a lot he hadn’t trusted.</p><p class="p2">Bolin <em>got</em> that. He did. But there was a side of him that wished for a different chapter, if not a different story altogether. One where he and Mako could relax and make honest money. Not jumping at sudden noises, not stretching their money and the capacity of their hunger. One where Mako didn’t wake with purple stains under his eyes and a grimace befitting someone thrice his age. One where he, Bolin, wasn’t the av—well...</p><p class="p2"><em>That</em> was a different story.</p><p class="p2">Mako tells Bolin from now on, in the arena, he’d have to stick with earth and earth only.</p><p class="p2">“No slip ups,” he warns. Bolin agrees around a mouthful of dinner, dabbing at his chin with the collar of his shirt as Mako swipes at his hand, offering a napkin instead.</p><p class="p2">Despite the warning, however, Mako comes to him one day after an afternoon of training at the arena. They weren’t old enough to compete yet, but Toza encouraged them to practice regardless so that they’d have an edge when they eventually did. Mako drops his bag on the floor by the door, runs himself a glass of water and studies it for a moment. Then announces as casually as though he were telling Bolin about the day he had, that there was a water bender he met down the hall.</p><p class="p2">“You’re trying to build a team already?” Bolin jokes and Mako snickers, draining his glass and putting it in the sink.</p><p class="p2">“No. But maybe, he can...y’know.”</p><p class="p2">He gestures vaguely at Bolin and turns away.</p><p class="p2">In more recent history, Bolin had summoned the nerve to test his abilities on an entirely different element.</p><p class="p2"><em>Seriously</em> this time.</p><p class="p2">Mako had walked in on him one day in the kitchen, a mug of water in front of him as he willed it to move.</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">...Or something.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Okay, <em>so maybe</em> he had no idea what he was doing. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Like, at all.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">But he <em>had</em> succeeded in a little something. A balloon of water growing upwards out of the mug like a mushroom before Mako appeared in the door, making a noise in the back of his throat and startled him and it crashed around the rim and on the counter. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Why bother though?” Bolin presses. “I won’t need it. I won’t need any of it.”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“It’s just what <em>they</em> do.” Mako never addresses the avatar by title. Not anymore. “It’s traditional.”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Traditional?”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“You know, just...learning. You want to at least learn right?”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He does.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Until he finds he can barely look Nanouk in the eye.</span>
</p><p class="p2">Mako is running some groceries down the hall for the water bender in question and calls for Bolin to help. The next thing he knows, he’s standing in a small living room, willing himself not to bolt under the steady gaze of the tall water tribesmen nearest the window. Mako converses easily with him as he puts away the goods, accepting a small payment with a respectful dip at the waist. And Nanouk—as Bolin learns his name to be—seems equally at ease around Mako.</p><p class="p2">It’s just Bolin he studies intently, like some anomaly you’d see under a microscope.</p><p class="p2">“This is your brother, then?” He asks as they enter, one hand in his pocket and the other tucking a lock of gray-brown hair back into its ties. “The water bender?”</p><p class="p2">“Bolin? Yeah,” Mako smiles. “Bolin, this is Nanouk. He was in the northern water tribe military.”</p><p class="p2">“Emphasis on <em>was</em>,” Nanouk smiles, and Bolin feels his shoulder relaxes a minuscule. “Mako tells me you’re not very in tune with your abilities.”</p><p class="p2">“Oh! Yeah, no. I’m...<em>no</em>. I have <em>no</em> idea what I’m doing, actually,” Bolin stammers. “I’m still practicing. I—“</p><p class="p2">“Our parents died when we were young and he never had a chance to hone in on it,” Mako explains. “Whatever price you name, I’ll pay.”</p><p class="p2">Nanouk thinks this over. Looks between the two brothers. Names his groceries delivered at the end of the week and nothing more.</p><p class="p2">Bolin can’t shake the grin he wears for the rest of the day.</p><p class="p2"> </p><hr/><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Someone painted the equalist symbol in the stairwell. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The elevator’s out of service and Mako says it’s Bolin’s turn to run the trash. He doesn’t think it actually is, but Pabu had chewed one of the buttons off Mako’s shoes the other day and he felt bad so he goes anyway. He’s turning the corner when he hears the building manager ranting and raving about a floor or two below to someone else he doesn’t recognize. Peering over the rail, he sees the familiar symbol on the wall, right under a window.</span>
</p><p class="p2">“You find who did this and tell me when you do,” the manager growls. He disappears around another corner and a door slams. He was an earth bender as well, Bolin knew. He’d probably be mad too.</p><p class="p2">The first time he sees the symbol, he’s waiting with Zolt outside some tavern while a couple other triad members collect a debt from the owner inside. It’s across the street in the window of another shop. Bolin kicks a foot out towards it, not wanting to move his hands out the warmth of his pockets and asks Zolt what it is.</p><p class="p2">“Tch,” the man scoffs. “A <em>joke</em> is what it is. An anti-bender club.” He pauses and looks up the street. “Won’t amount to anything anyway.”</p><p class="p2">Later on that year, he’s sitting with Mako while his brother balances the books when Shin comes in with that days paper and a grim look on his face.</p><p class="p2">“The Agni Kai’s hit the Sato estate,” he says, dropping the paper on Zolt’s desk. “Mrs. Sato didn’t make it.”</p><p class="p2">Zolt curses under his breath.</p><p class="p2">“Played right into those equalists hands is what they did,” he grumbles.</p><p class="p2">Bolin distinctly remembers him saying all that time ago that the equalists weren’t anything to worry about. Something in his tone at that moment seemed to say different.</p><p class="p2">Bolin hoped he was wrong though. He hopes he’s still wrong now, as he creeps past the symbol in the stairwell with the trash in a death grip.</p><p class="p2">They probably wouldn’t like someone like him.</p><p class="p2"> </p><hr/><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Nanouk’s apartment was thoughtfully curated. Dark furniture, simple rugs strategically on the floor to knock the chill. The standard pale beige of the walls were left mostly undecorated save for a large tapestry on one wall and a row of book lined shelves on another. Bolin eyes them when he arrives for his lessons, tilting his head to read the titles. He can’t ever really catch what they are.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The only thing aside from the tapestry that bespoke of a personal taste was the wicker chair and table set. It was tucked under the wide window, light slipping through the bent wood and scattering a spiderweb pattern on the floor. At the end of each lesson, Nanouk would make them tea and they’d drink it at the wicker table. Then, he’d tell Bolin a bit about himself. Not a lot. Some stories he’d start with a smile and end with a faraway look. Bolin tried to follow his gaze once and finds it resting on a picture of a young man and woman. The woman is holding two babies in either arm. The man has a toddler on his hip. Both are solemnly posed except for the toddler in the man’s arms who is slightly blurred with a tiny fist gripping at a tassle in the man’s coat.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“...Is that you?”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Mhmm,” Nanouk says. Bolin squints. Yes, he can see the resemblance now. “And my wife and children.”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“It’s a nice picture.”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Thank you,” a pause and Bolin turns to find him studying his cup intently, as though it were speaking to him in riddles.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“It feels like almost yesterday when that photo was taken,” he says almost to himself. “They—my children—have families of their own. They want me to return home.”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Why don’t you?”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“I <em>am</em> home.”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">They finish their tea. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><hr/><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He takes Pabu out sometimes to play and exercise at the park and chew on things that aren’t Mako’s clothes or Mako’s fingers or, occasionally, Mako’s hair while he sleeps. He’s coming up the rear entry of Tozas building after one such outing when he hears the heated discussion.</span>
</p><p class="p2">“—was with my sister all weekend! How dare you even assume that? <em>Accuse</em> me of that?”</p><p class="p2">He peeks around the side of the building and sees the man from the stairwell and another man, covered in oil stains with a metal pail in his elbow standing near the trash bins. This new stranger’s hands are on his hips and his face an angry scarlet.</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Put yourself in my shoes,” the man pleads. “These <em>equalists</em>—“ the word spat as though it were poison, “—are leaving their mark everywhere, and tagging the interior of the complex is just—“</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“So it’s a hunch? Because I’m a nonbender? That’s what this silly little movement is coming to?”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“That’s not at all what it is. But if you know something or someone—“</span>
</p><p class="p2">Bolin swallows past the lump in his throat. Eyeing Pabu in his arms, he presses a finger to his lips and goes inside.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3"> </p><hr/><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Nanouk’s tutelage is distinct to Mako’s. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Mako taught him with the patience of an older sibling. With Nanouk, they begin every Thursday at two in the afternoon with a basic run through his primary forms. One slip and it’s back to square one. </span>
</p><p class="p2">By the end of the first two weeks, Bolin can manipulate a ribbon of water around Nanouk’s living room with no mistakes, freeze it, unfreeze it, and deposit it in a little vessel. At the end of one such lesson, he settles into one of those wicker chairs at Nanouk’s table, accepting a cup of tea with a dip of his head. They drink in comfortable silence, listening to Nanouk’s radio before Bolin breaks it.</p><p class="p2">“What brought you to Republic City?”</p><p class="p2">“My wife,” Nanouk says, blowing at the surface of his tea and holding it frozen just an inch from his lips. “She had family here and wanted away from the north.” He takes a tentative sip, smiles softly at a memory Bolin isn’t privy to and adds, “and I’d follow her to the ends of the earth.”</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“A love story,” Bolin says dreamily into his cup, and Nanouk chuckles.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“That, I suppose. And once I left the military, I didn’t know what to do with myself. You spend so long being one thing and suddenly you’re not. It’s different. Uncomfortable even.”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Bolin’s lesson is finished for the day. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><hr/><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s2">When Mako comes home, Bolin makes them some tea. He was always generous with the honey, and Mako—physically incapable of voicing any kind of surface complaints towards his brother—always ended up just choking around it. But tonight he’s cold and tired and his socks are wet through his shoes from the downpour he got caught in.<br/></span> </em>
</p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s2">The too sweet tea is a welcome respite.</span> </em>
</p><p class="p2">
  <em>Bolin keeps sneaking peeks at him on the other side of the table, worrying at the pad of his thumb with his teeth. When Mako looks up, he’s met with the quick downward cast of his eyes.</em>
</p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s2">“Alright,” Mako says. “Spit it out.”</span> </em>
</p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s2">“I was just thinking,” Bolin says. He still won’t look up. “I heard they’re looking to hire benders at that new plant. That they’re paying really well.”</span> </em>
</p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s2">“What new plant?”</span> </em>
</p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s2">“The water one. By the uh...you know. Like, you’re going towards that one satomobile factory, but you turn left instead of right...?”</span> </em>
</p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s2">“Oh. Okay, yeah. So what about it?”</span> </em>
</p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s2">“Well, I just told you. They’re hiring.”</span> </em>
</p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s2">“Benders.”</span> </em>
</p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s2">“Mhmm.”</span> </em>
</p><p class="p2">
  <em>“At the water plant...” Mako has an idea where this was going and from the way Bolin went back to chewing on his thumb, he was right.</em>
</p><p class="p2">
  <em>“Yes, Mako. Benders at the water plant.”</em>
</p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s2">“Bolin, we talked about that...”</span> </em>
</p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s2">“But we need the money!”</span> </em>
</p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s2">“We’re getting by just fine!” That was a stretch on a good day, but that was neither here nor there. “You can’t keep switching elements in public!”</span> </em>
</p><p class="p2">
  <em>“Why though?” Bolin says, bounding out of his chair to follow Mako when he takes their empty cups to the sink. “You know how big Republic City is! It’s not like anyone will notice!”</em>
</p><p class="p2">
  <em>“You need one person to see. One person to know. And then—“</em>
</p><p class="p2">
  <em>“And then what? You want me to learn but you don’t want me to use what I learn?” Bolin demands, arms folding. “Let’s say they do see, let’s say they do run and tell everyone that the new avatar is some poor, sixteen year old. Do I look like anyone will take me seriously? I had to hold up a leak in the living room while they fixed the pipes upstairs so we wouldn’t end up looking like the bottom of a waterfall! Does that sound like official avatar duties to you?”</em>
</p><p class="p2">
  <em>“I take you seriously!”</em>
</p><p class="p2">
  <em>Bolin makes a dismissive noise in the back of his throat. “You don’t count.”</em>
</p><p class="p2">
  <em>It hits like a slap. Mako knew, of course. He figured. He was Bolin’s brother. He was suppose to be in his corner. To take him seriously, to back him up, to dish solid advice in spades only for the little pain in his neck to turn his nose up at it. But that was the thing, wasn’t it? Mako didn’t count here because he counted everywhere else.</em>
</p><p class="p2">
  <em>The truth almost slips. The dreams he wakes up in a cold sweat to, faceless people dragging Bolin away and Mako can’t keep up. It’s Bolin in the harbor, Bolin in the papers, and Mako sits alone on the kitchen sink drinking tea weighted in honey wondering where he is and what he’s doing. If he’s warm, if he’s fed. If he’s missing him.</em>
</p><p class="p2">
  <em>He was all he had.</em>
</p><p class="p2">
  <em>Is all he has.</em>
</p><p class="p2">
  <em>Bolin eyes him, lips pulled downward. Mako realizes too late he hasn’t actually said anything after that.</em>
</p><p class="p2">
  <em>“You okay?”</em>
</p><p class="p2">
  <em>“Fine,” he says. Turns and fills the sink. Bolin, in a rare show of quiet, tidies the table and slips away to give the tension in the room a chance to dissipate.</em>
</p><p class="p2">
  <em>Later that night, Mako lays on the blankets and stares at the wall.</em>
</p><p class="p2">
  <em>Bolin whispers for him. He ignores him.</em>
</p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s2">There’s a thump of feet hitting the floor. A heartbeat later and the edge of his blanket shifts. A finger poking none too gently into his cheek.</span> </em>
</p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s2">“Are you awake?” Bolin whispers loudly and Mako grunts. “Mako! Are you awake?”</span> </em>
</p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s2">“Yes, I’m awake! You just poked me in the face!”</span> </em>
</p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s2">“I wanted to say sorry,” Bolin presses on. “I just want to help. If I can’t do anything else, I want that.”</span> </em>
</p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s2">“Don’t apologize. You were right.”</span> </em>
</p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s2">The weight doesn’t move and Mako rolls over, squinting up through the dark only to find Bolin looking back towards the kitchen.</span> </em>
</p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s2">“If you want to work and use your bending—all of your bending—then go ahead.”</span> </em>
</p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s2">“Don’t say that. It sounds like you’re giving up or something.”</span> </em>
</p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s2">“Since when do you like it when I lecture you?”</span> </em>
</p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s2">The tone is teasing but Bolin remains stock still and eerily silent. </span> </em>
</p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s2">“I’m not giving up,” Mako says quietly. “I told you. We’re in this together.”</span> </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3"> </p><hr/><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Toza announces the attic is ready. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Bolin goes down to Nanouk’s one last time with the groceries and drops two of the eggs in the process.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Mako and I are leaving,” he says quickly, dragging a towel across the spill. “I just...wanted to thank you. For teaching me everything.”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“It was hardly everything,” Nanouk says arching an eyebrow. “You’ll be perfect for the water tribe military training, maybe. Pro-bending, as I hear, is a bit less...intense.”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">They sit down for tea one final time and Bolin wills himself to stop thinking like that. It <em>isn’t</em> a final time. He could—if permitted—still visit. Sometimes it just felt like he was clinging to everything. Like at a moments notice they could be taken away. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">But...no. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Mako was the only one who knew. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Everything was fine. <em>He</em> was fine—</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Something on your mind, Bolin?”</span>
</p><p class="p2">He shakes off his thoughts, giving his mentor what he hopes is a convincing smile. Shakes his head.</p><p class="p2">Everything was fine.</p><p class="p2"> </p><hr/><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The attic above the arena is enormous.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Mako and Bolin just stand there for a long time to take it in. The sweeping view of the city around them. The tall ceilings sloping overhead. There’s two lofts on either side of the room, wide enough for them each to have their own space. A concept neither had ever really entertained, and now that it was presented seemed too much.<br/></span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2"><em>Way</em> too much.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Unbelievable,” Mako breathes. There’s a sofa left in a corner near where they stand. Mako goes to it and beats it twice with the back of his hand, coughing around the plume of dust that billows out of the cushions. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">They share a look and a nod.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The rest of the day is spent scrubbing and cleaning. Mako takes the stove, sofa, and their lofts while Bolin makes quick work on the windows and floors with his water bending. By the time they’re done, it’s dusk and they’re covered in sweat and dirt, but they make their way down to the Earth Kingdom restaurant on the corner and get takeout with the money Toza slipped them with a noncommittal grunt before he went back to his apartment. They eat their first meal in their first real home on Mako’s loft, Bolin dishing out the food while Mako lay on his side, eyes closed in rare relaxation.</span>
</p><p class="p2">“That arena manager said if we set up for the matches and keep the place clean, he won’t charge us rent ‘til we start competing.”</p><p class="p2">“That’s nice,” Bolin hums.</p><p class="p2">“Yeah,” Mako says to the glittering skyline around them. “It is.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">SHE COLLIDES WITH MAKO, AND it’s as he’s apologizing, fumbling with the inventory list of that Republic City ship that needed loading, that she snaps her fingers and breaks into a broad smile.</p><p class="p2">Mako is eighteen. Bolin is seventeen.</p><p class="p2">“Hey, hold on, I know you,” she says, wagging a finger as though guiding a memory to a point where she can recall it. “Yeah...<em>yeah</em>, it’s Mako right? Pro-bender?”</p><p class="p2">“Oh, uh. Yes, I’m...that’s me.” It still took him by surprise when people recognized him—or, rather his voice most of the time—by name. The feeling makes his skin break into goosebumps. Living as long as he did under the thumb of a city with better things to worry about. Now that it knows him by name it feels all sorts of wrong.</p><p class="p2">The girl is talking again, a hand held out expectantly.</p><p class="p2">“I’m Korra,” she says as Mako shakes her hand. “Sorry. Big fan of your sport. But by any chance would you know which of these ships are northern water tribe bound?”</p><p class="p2">“The one at the end of the port is,” he points towards the vessel in question sitting near motionlessly beside a Fire Nation ship currently being unloaded by a small team of sailors. “I could walk you down if you like.”</p><p class="p2">“No, no, no. Absolutely not. That’s the one I’m <em>avoiding</em>.”</p><p class="p2">Mako can only blink.</p><p class="p2">Her story comes out in the rush of pent up frustration. She’s set to start school in the north in the fall. Her family—this she says with an exasperated look towards Mako—wants her to get settled in early which was code for sit around keeping out of trouble until the semester starts if she’s not dead of boredom before then.</p><p class="p2"><em>Her</em> words.</p><p class="p2">Mako tells her with a hint of amusement that it sounds like she’s just playing hooky.</p><p class="p2">She throws her head back and laughs. <em>Maybe I am</em>, and a deep flush rises over her cheeks. <em>Maybe I am.<br/></em></p><p class="p2">She’s all movement. Surety in each step, each gesture of her hands—she talks in motion. She tells him a family friend is letting her stay with them in the city until school starts. She tells him she’s a water bender.</p><p class="p2">He figured she probably was.</p><p class="p2"> </p><hr/><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Bolin and Korra get along almost immediately, to Mako’s chagrin.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">She’s fun and clever. Witty. She carries herself with a confidence Bolin wishes he had.She’s an excellent water bender too. Bolin envies it. Not in a malicious way though. Just in the sort of way that he watches her lead water as though it were an extension of herself, as though she and it were in a dance, and wishes he knew how. Decides it doesn’t matter in the long run.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><hr/><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2">
  <em>She was the daughter of the southern water tribe chief and former student of Katara. She knew more about the search for the avatar than either of the brothers—maybe even the Republic City press.</em>
</p><p class="p2">
  <em>As such, she picks up on it quickly, if not unconsciously. And she </em>
  <em>doesn’t miss the way the topic is always averted when it comes to the brothers either. </em>
</p><p class="p2">
  <em>It’s as common an opening conversation as the weather, or something asinine like that new department store with the green and gold awning and a perfume collection to just die for—</em>
</p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s2">(Spirits, she hated sharing a trolley stop sometimes.)</span> </em>
</p><p class="p2">
  <em>But the topic of the avatar was always the same. Mako and Bolin would share a quick look and one of them would gently divert to something else. </em>
</p><p class="p2">
  <em>It was...</em>
</p><p class="p2">
  <em>Strange. </em>
</p><p class="p2">
  <em>There was something there she couldn’t put her finger on. But Korra had known of people who felt uncomfortable around the idea of one singular person wielding that much power. Yes, the topic wasn’t willingly approached by the two.</em>
</p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s2">Until it wasn’t.</span> </em>
</p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s2">“So what happens if they don’t find the avatar?” Bolin asks one day. He and Korra had spent the day just hanging out around the city. They stopped for lunch at this little hole in the wall place Bolin says he and Mako used to go to with their parents on special occasions. He ignores the Equalist symbol in the window in favor of rattling off the best things on the menu which wasn’t everything but was ‘sorta, kinda close to it.’</span> </em>
</p><p class="p2">
  <em>Korra had announced, after the first bite, that it was the best food she’s had since she arrived.</em>
</p><p class="p2">
  <em>“I...actually don’t think that’s possible,” she says, thoughtfully. “One way or another they’ll find them.”</em>
</p><p class="p2">
  <em>“How, though?”</em>
</p><p class="p2">
  <em>“I dunno. Spirits? Stubborn will?” She lifts some of the food to her mouth and stops to laugh. “You didn’t hear it from me, okay? But Katara and Lord Zuko make for quite the team when it comes to getting to the bottom of something. Tenzin too. Must be genetic...”</em>
</p><p class="p2">
  <em>“Tenzin?”</em>
</p><p class="p2">
  <em>“Katara’s son. The one I’m staying with? He’s an air bender.”</em>
</p><p class="p2">
  <em>“Oh.”</em>
</p><p class="p2">
  <em>They finish lunch to the topic of pro-bending instead.</em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><hr/><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s2">SEARCH FOR AVATAR PUT ON TEMPORARY HALT</span> </em>
</p><p class="p2">Mako is angled away from him. Bolin had already seen the papers to know what it said.</p><p class="p2">It was breaking news.</p><p class="p2"><em>They should’ve shown up by now</em>, came the whispers, as though to speak too loud would spook the avatar further into hiding.</p><p class="p2">
  <em>They’re suppose to be here by now.</em>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Mako says maybe it’s time.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">They’re sitting on the sofa listening to the radio. Bolin on his back, knees drawn up and eyes on the sky just out the window. Mako sits near his feet with his head resting on the back of the seat. They just sit there, letting the music fill the cavernous space and then, out of the blue, Mako says that. Maybe it’s time.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Time for?” Bolin asks. He already knows but maybe Mako will surprise him.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He doesn’t.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“For you to go to them,” his brother says softly.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Bolin pushes up on his elbows. “No one is exactly saying what they even need the avatar for.”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Balance.”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Nothing is out of balance.”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Mako doesn’t say anything and Bolin drops back to his original spot. Thinks about cards and the funny way life deals them. Thinks about triads and equalists, and former water tribe soldiers missing and making homes, and bold young women determined to make their mark on a city unkind to youth and boldness. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Nothing was out of balance. </span>
</p><p class="p2">Everything was just as it had always been.</p><p class="p2"> </p><hr/><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s2">She tells him she feels like she’s wasting time.</span> </em>
</p><p class="p3">
  <em> <span class="s2">She tangles her fingers in her hair, leaning her elbows on her knees on the roof of his and Bolin’s old building. Their childhood home. It used to be hard coming back that way. But it had a nice view of the night market. It was busy tonight. All glowing orange light and low conversation like a rumble of waves just beneath their feet.</span> </em>
</p><p class="p2">
  <em>Korra looks through it.</em>
</p><p class="p2">
  <em>She tells him she’s wasting time and she doesn’t want to be a healer. Never did. He asks her what she wants to be, then. She laughs and there’s no humor there.</em>
</p><p class="p2">
  <em>“Well, that’s the thing. I don’t know. I thought maybe I’d figure it out here,” she says. “But it’s hard to hear yourself think sometimes, you know?”</em>
</p><p class="p2">
  <em>“Yeah, I get that,” Mako sighs. “Republic City is...loud.” She snorts and he chuckles. “Literally and metaphorically. Look, sometimes you just have to...get lost before you get your bearings again.”</em>
</p><p class="p2">
  <em>She looks at him. “Are you lost?”</em>
</p><p class="p2">
  <em>He keeps his eyes on the market below.</em>
</p><p class="p2">
  <em>“Hopelessly.”</em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><hr/><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“It doesn’t make sense,” Bolin announces to the ceiling. “I thought the avatar was suppose to <em>look</em> like who the previous one loved the most.”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“That’s just a legend,” Mako hums, frowning at the state of their milk. He could’ve sworn he just bought that...</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“What if it’s not me?” Bolin muses, chin dropping into his palms. “What if I’m... the test?”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“The test? What test?”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“I don’t know! Like, a test to see what happens if you set an avatar loose in some random city with no connections or mentors outside his brother? I’m like the first, barely edible pancake to test the heat of the pan before the <em>real</em> avatar shows up.”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Mako puts the milk down and gives his brother a deadpan look.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Who...is the better, uh. The better pancake.” Bolin expands.</span>
</p><p class="p2">“You’re ridiculous,” Mako scoffs. “And you don’t give yourself enough credit.”</p><p class="p2">“Maybe you give me too much.”</p><p class="p2">Mako pauses. He turns fully this time, but Bolin is scratching Pabu under the chin, chuckling at the noises of content the ferret makes, and it’s almost like he hadn’t said anything at all.</p><p class="p2"> </p><hr/><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He’s practicing alone one evening in the training gym. Truth be told, he couldn’t sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw places he’d never been. People he never met. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He was Bolin.<br/></span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">And then he wasn’t. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He was someone else. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">And when he wasn’t someone else, he was another someone else. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He woke up nauseous and exhausted, and when tea didn’t fix it, he took to what he knew best.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He’s going through a cycle. Earth, then fire. Earth that bleeds into fire that returns to earth. It’s fluid enough. He’s comfortable with it. There’s no water to practice with but he doesn’t mind. He’s pausing long enough to catch his breath when he notices it. The shadow in the door. Their guest he forgot had crashed with them for the night when the music ran late, and the remnants of their dinner lay scattered, and the heated argument over whether or not Mako was cheating at pai sho turned to friendly blows, carrying on past midnight to Bolin’s instigating.</span>
</p><p class="p2">He hadn’t registered when the door opened, but that’s not even <em>the problem</em> at the moment. His blood runs cold. Fingers still tingling with the heat of barely contained flames.</p><p class="p2">Turning slowly, he lets out a slow breath as Korra approaches.</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Nice forms,” she says simply. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He could laugh.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He doesn’t.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“I um—“ he trails off, helplessly. This was bad. <em>No</em>. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">This was...</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">This was <em>awful</em>.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Couldn’t sleep?” Korra offers with a small smile.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He swallows. Nods.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Mind an audience?”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“N-no.”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He wants to ask what she’s seen. Something tells him she’s saw it all, though. She walks to the back of the gym and drops with a grunt on a stack of mats. She’s not even looking at him. He turns back to the earth disks, ignoring the prickling on the back of his neck and wills two of them upwards.</span>
</p><p class="p2">“How’s your water bending?”</p><p class="p2">The disks drop with a loud clatter.</p><p class="p2">“Sorry,” Korra says quickly. “Ignore me.”</p><p class="p2">“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Bolin says, for damn near the umpteenth time to the empty space in front of him. Ears still ringing from where he dropped the disks.</p><p class="p2">Korra stays silent.</p><p class="p2">“I thought...Mako and I both thought maybe it was a mistake. Some kind of fluke,” he continues, unable to stop. “I don’t know if I can be that.”</p><p class="p2">“Be what?”</p><p class="p2">He looks back at her, jerking a head miserably towards the window, at the statue of the previous avatar lit in the harbor.</p><p class="p2">To his surprise, she snorts.</p><p class="p2">“I’m pretty sure that’s the point. Each incarnation brings something different to the table.”</p><p class="p2">“I want no parts of this spiritual potluck, no offense.”</p><p class="p2">“I don’t think any of them did either.”</p><p class="p2">“So now what?”</p><p class="p2">“Now? I’ll be quiet and let you finish,” Korra says with a wide grin and he sighs.</p><p class="p2">“You know what I mean.”</p><p class="p2">She mimics his sigh and stands, crossing the space between them until she’s right in front of him.</p><p class="p2">“You can’t run from it, Bolin,” she says. “There’s people out there who are in your corner. Some you haven’t even met yet.”</p><p class="p2">“You’re not answering the question,” he says with a smile, and she gives him one back.</p><p class="p2">“I don’t know. That’s my answer...”</p><p class="p2">He nods, lifting his hands over the discs. They wobble, and then her hand is on his wrist, tearing his attention away.</p><p class="p2">“...But I know where we can start.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><hr/><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Katara is nice. </span>
</p><p class="p2">She greets him with a hug, hand patting his cheek with the fondness of a distant relative. His teeth are chattering and he doesn’t think it’s from the cold.</p><p class="p2">Lord Zuko is a bit more tightly coiled. Bolin bows deeply and the gesture is returned. He grasps Bolin’s hand when they shake and squeezes it. The feeling so similar to when Mako would do it whenever he was nervous about something, or when the nights grew long and the streets so loud and Bolin shuddered at every shadow and noise.</p><p class="p2">“It’s a pleasure,” Lord Zuko says, “to finally meet you.”</p><p class="p2">Bolin feels Korra and Mako at either side of him. Two solid presences. Feels the pressure he’s been carrying so long rise, even if only a bit. A tiny speck of a bit that in the grand scheme of things probably wouldn’t matter. But in that moment he can breathe.</p><p class="p2">He’s not afraid.</p><p class="p2">“The pleasure is all mine.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Authors Note</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">[[ Thank you for reading ‘Hope On Fire’ ♡</span>
</p><p class="p2">I am so glad it was enjoyable for some of you. I had a good time writing it! Thank you for the kudos! I know 16 isn’t a lot, but it’s more than I could’ve expected for this story. So...truly, thank you. ♡</p><p class="p2">With all that said, there will be a second part to Avatar Bolin’s story. Whereas this story touches on his origins and the rise of the equalist movement, the second part gets into more of an actual plot line and some more familiar faces show up. Iroh II joining team avatar? Forced romantic subplots that don’t even progress the plot just...straight up not happening? <em>Korra as Tarrlok’s intern to satisfy her scholarship requirements?</em> It’s more likely than you think.</p><p class="p2">In the meantime, have this snippet from a scene I’m fond of. And please <strike>like, subscribe, and comment</strike> stay tuned and in touch for the second part! ]]</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">———</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">HE FINDS ZOLT SLUMPED AT a booth in one of the smaller bars downtown.</span>
</p><p class="p2">He vaguely remembers passing through this particular place once or twice when he was young—hands fumbling around envelopes full of more yuans than he’d ever see in his life—per the flippant direction of one of the other triad members. And it’s where he’d always find him. Back then, it seemed bigger. Brighter, louder. Live swing bands every Friday, a new woman on Zolt’s arm every Saturday, and a bulky doorman that never once asked what business some kid had with one of its top paying patrons.</p><p class="p2">(Years later, Bolin realizes it was the <em>top paying patron</em> in question that ensured his messengers could come and go without hassle. Because Zolt never <em>didn’t</em> have his turtleducks in a row. Because Zolt was always one step ahead—)</p><p class="p2">Now? </p><p class="p2">Now it only seems as dull and dead eyed as the man in the rear, nursing a glass of something innocently clear. The lone bartender doesn’t move from swiping at a cloudy glass when Bolin enters. The only other people in the establishment is an old woman at the counter and <em>him</em>.</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He looks up when Bolin sits across from him.</span>
</p><p class="p2">“Am I that predictable?” Zolt asks, eyes shifting from Bolin to a stain on the table between them.</p><p class="p2">“Where is he?” Bolin asks. And then, with a frown. “What even <em>happened</em>?”</p><p class="p2">“You know what happened. Viper and the papers took care of that,” he pauses. Takes a slow sip from his glass and holds it there, an inch from his lips.</p><p class="p2">“...You’re asking <em>how</em>.”</p><p class="p2"> </p>
  </div></div>
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